


No Way To Fight A War

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 07:03:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: They were both trained fighters, had studied the ways of warfare and means of waging war.  They each were proficient with several weapons, including their bare hands, and neither had any qualms or hesitation about joining a battle when it was needful.  But this really had to be above and beyond the call of duty!  They discussed over a long stiff drink and agreed, "This is no way to fight a war!".





	1. Meghada and The Socialites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strategic engagement was slated to begin Friday evening and to last until Monday at 2pm. Not too terribly long, she'd been on longer missions by far. But this one, she was only two hours into it and she was ready to pull the plug, or explode, one of the two. And she knew just who to hold responsible for this debacle!

The room was full of the most elite of the upper class ladies, at least those who thought themselves, or sought to be thought fashionable. Meghada had always found it odd that even in the highest of the classes, there were divisions and subdivisions and strata and substrata, each rather looking down on the other.

{"Rather like an Esher drawing!"} she thought in amusement. Whether it was the gourmet set, or the literati, or the art afficiandos, or the wine snobs, any of the others, they all considered THEMSELVES to be the true elite of the elite.

{"Still, I can deal with most of those better than THESE! How can you possibly spend that much time on what you're wearing? And with such results!!"} Of course, she had to admit to herself that the other groups didn't actively seek her out quite so persistently as this lot, so that might be why her tolerance level was so different. She was just not a very sociable person when it came down to it; few Dragons ever had been.

She shook her head and took another look around the room. More than a few of the gentlemen of that same social strata were also in attendance. Even a few examples of the younger nobility were present, along with their host, the stern and severe hawk-nosed Lord Darrington, his wife being the tall woman in the elegantly styled dress of a highly unusual shade of yellow, which probably wouldn't have been flattering to anyone, but which, on her, contrasted most unpleasantly with her bleached hair and sallow skin, and even more so with the fuscia lip rouge she had decided to wear.

{"Why would you choose to wear something that makes you as if you were having a bilious attack?!"} Meghada thought to herself. Of course, Lady Darrington was making a determined effort to pretend she was a good fifteen, maybe twenty years younger than she was, as evidenced by the much younger crowd she elected to surround herself with. Maybe she thought that dress did the trick, who knows. 

The very air in the elegant room seemed rarified with all the breeding and culture and distinction and, thought Meghada O'Donnell, {"the pure unadulterated bullshit that usually permeates such a gathering!"}.

The serenely smiling young woman with the braided coronet of deep red hair was dressed in a simple but elegant, obviously expensive deep bronze gown, the fabric being something out of the ordinary, quite beautiful but not one the onlookers could easily put a name to, undoubtedly something from one of the top design houses, though at their eager inquiry, she'd merely given a regal half-smile, "from an exclusive private designer, my dears. Most talented, a true artiste. She limits herself to just a very few patrons, you know, and has graced our family with her creations for some time now; she has sources for the most remarkable materials."

{"Well, my sister is certainly a private designer; and certainly exclusive - she only does her work for the Family and a couple of Friends, after all, and I've not seen her equal with a needle. And the fabric is made at one of our own enclaves, the finest wool blends from our own sheep, bred just for that purpose, dyes from our own dye-pots,"} brushing her fingers along the slubbed finish with pleasure.

{"And that's another thing. It's January, it's cold and damp, this room is slightly chilly even to me, dressed as I am, and half of them are in sleeveless dresses, cut low; they'll be lucky to avoid pneumonia, especially since they are wearing silks and satins, and oh good grief!, that one is even wearing some kind of muslin and silk ensemble! The only thing more foolish would be if she had followed the old fashion of wetting the muslin to make it cling more! Yes, pneumonia, at least!"}. She was willing to make some effort for when she had to socialize with this crowd, but getting a lung infection was going above and beyond. Her own dress was lovely and rich; it was also warm! 

She stood politely conversing with Julie Richards and four others; all were exquisitely groomed and gowned, hair sleekly drawn into place with jeweled combs, or elaborately curled and feathered, or, in one case, ratted and tucked under a cocktail hat that, as far as Meghada could tell, consisted of crumpled silver netting, a pheasant feather, and a small birds nest, complete with eggs. She kept glancing at the confection, trying to convince herself she was mistaken, but kept coming up with the same combination; she refrained from comment, until the woman turned her head slightly, and she saw the large yellow and green silk grasshopper perched on the side of the nest, then she couldn't control herself any longer.

"Mildred, what an unusual little hat! Where ever did you find it?" she asked, somehow keeping her voice at the proper flattering tone for this affair, and her face in the proper expression. She refrained from asking the next question on her mind, {"and what in holy hell were you thinking??!"}

The answer came eagerly, the rather elusive and elegant Miss O'Donnell not usually singling out any for such flattering fashion inquiries. Mildred was ever so pleased to provide the name and location of 'the most delightful little millinary shop, with the MOST talented French designer, my dear. I'd be glad to give you an introduction. I'm certain she would be able to put together the most perfect little something for you!"

And Meghada managed to smile and nod and express her thanks. She wondered just what she had in her closet that would go well with a grasshopper. She tried not to think of what Goniff would say, or, Sweet Mother, Casino! if she showed up in something like that, and had to hid the amused snicker as 'just a bit of the bubbles up my nose, so terribly sorry!"

And that was another thing, just what the bloody hell was she doing drinking bloody champagne cocktails in the first place??! That was all they were serving the ladies, though the MEN had the option of whisky or Scotch; well, she hated the damned stuff, thought it tasted like cat piss smelled; she'd told Actor that once and thought he was going to choke.

Her blue-eyed laddie had just laughed, "subtle, 'Gaida, real subtle! Thought you were going to work on that, ei??"

And Craig hadn't contributed to the sobriety of the moment by saying, "Goniff, now that's not fair; she obviously has been working on it! Think of what she COULD have said!" And that green eyed lad of theirs (oh how good it was to see him relax once in a while now!) led the others in coming up with choice examples.

{"Both my lads, and aren't I a lucky one, and them so good for each other too; all three of us good for each other,"} and a totally different smile came to her face. Now THAT had been fun, that evening! What was she doing here when she could be with them?? Not Craig, of course; he was off doing the pretty, too, though probably doing a better job of it, {"well, he could scarce do worse! Bet he's not having to drink bloody champagne cocktails or deal with any bloody birds nests or yellow and green silk grasshoppers!"} (not having any notion Garrison was quite busy enough dealing with a totally different member, more than one even, of the animal kingdom!), but she could have had some good times with the rest of the team.

She dared take a fast glimpse at her watch. {"Two hours! Two bloody hours since I came downstairs, and it feels like a lifetime! I know Kevin used to be my Handler; I know he's a friend; I know it's important to keep on his good side, for the guys and for Ciena and for Coura's sake. I know Julie really wanted me to be here or he wouldn't have insisted so vehemently. But just how much more of this can I take??!"} 

It was not that she was inherently impatient. She'd sat for hours, holding her position, waiting for just the perfect shot, for her target to finish whatever business he was about and come into her rifle sights. She'd sat for hours beside the bed of one of her two lads, at the bedside of one of the team, standing vigil, keeping them safe, never questioning it was time well spent. She'd even sat in the garden, breathing in the air, letting the music, the words, float into her mind, and rousing to see that it had passed from dawn to early afternoon, her never noting the passing of those hours. But this? This was just too much. But she had promised Kevin to try and be on her best behavior, so she girded her loins with patience and focused on keeping that smile on her face.

"And there's so much planned, Meg, we are going to have such fun! Why, there's a card party, and a picnic, and a cocktail party each night, of course, and the suppers go on from eight til midnight, ever so many courses. They've promised us some games, maybe charades or something like that. A midmorning champagne breakfast on the lawn, with an archery contest to follow. The local Hunt will be riding out tomorrow morning with any of us who wish to joining them; I do hope you brought your riding habit! There will be an inpromptu ball, with some highly select personages to attend. And Sunday afternoon, a fashion show! Can you imagine? We have dresses and ensembles from The House of Worth, Christian Dior and Pierre Balmain, all for us to wear. Yes, WE'RE to be the models, picking out the costumes and descriptions that best suit our life style! Won't that be ever so delightful??" She felt her resolve dwindle, then die.

She made her way over to Major Kevin Richards, who was watching all this from the corner, drink in hand, trying not to look as apprehensive as he was feeling.

{"Why do I let Julie talk me into things like this? It's bad enough spending my time doing the pretty, but bringing the Dragon into it, that's just foolhardy! Sooner or later, it always gets too much for her, and she lets loose, in some way or the other. This crowd, they just don't have a clue about her, and she can't tolerate them for long!"}.

Part of him admitted that, while he worried about just when and how things would blow up, still, there was a great deal of perverse amusement and even gratification that came from seeing her stand the society crowd on their heads. They weren't his favorites either, though he tried to hide that fact, considering his career and all. This time, though, that look in her eye, the one that said she'd had more than enough, seemed even more pronounced than usual, {"and she's been here, what? two hours, a little more??! And this farce is supposed to go on for another two days??!"}. 

That feeling of apprehension had increased tenfold when the redhead left the conversation group and made her way through the crowd, headed directly for him. She smiled, that ever so correct and appropriate smile, the one she told him once, when he'd complimented her on it, that she thought of it as her, 'ain't I just a bloody 'me arse don't stink' elegant toff, and aint you just so lucky Oim gracing you with me fuckin presence??!' smile; he had spit out his drink when she'd said that, all sweet faced and in such a soft sweet voice, the purest East End accent he'd ever heard, if you could that accent 'pure'! He would have blamed Goniff for teaching her that, but the first time she'd told him that was well before Garrison's team had even been formed, so he wasn't quite sure where she had picked it up. AND, if it had been Goniff, it would have been the fractionally more polite 'ruddy' instead of 'bloody', though polite and Goniff weren't words he'd usually put together, thinking of the sly cheeky impertinence carried off so well by that individual. And what was most troubling? It seemed to come perfectly natural to her! 

Now, seeing that smile, he was tempted to dodge out the door, come up with an excuse, maybe a meeting he'd just remembered. But it was too late, she was at his elbow, close, back to the room, facing him, leaning towards him where no one could see her mouth, hear her lowered voice.

"Tell me, Kevin, just what IS the British equivalent of a Yank Section 8 or whatever the hell it's called? Because you must be trying really hard to qualify for a 'discharge due to severe mental incapacity' to let Julie get me involved in this. That bloody female in that ghastly pink dress more suited to a twelve year old has a fucking grasshopper in her hair, along with a birds nest! ON PURPOSE, Kevin, she put them there ON PURPOSE!! Do these people have NO sense? And I can't blame it on inbreeding, no matter that receding chin! The Clan makes a habit of mating between ourselves, has for centuries! and it's never caused our brain cells to melt! And what's with the champagne? Have you smelled that??! Never MIND what it TASTES like! If I don't get a decent drink . . ." she paused to take a breath, as he hastily and surreptitiously handed her his glass of whisky.

She thankfully took a deep swallow, nodding her undying gratitude, "it's not bourbon, and it's certainly not good, but it's better than that swill! There is to be an 'impromptu ball'; well, of course there is! Everyone travels with a ball gown just on the off chance a ball will spring into being, right?? Especially in the middle of a war! Should have remembered mine; I keep it in the closet right next to my coronation robes for when I'm elected the next pope and my Easter Bunny costume; just got that one back from cleaning after the last time I wore it for St Swithins Day. And then, there are the four-hour suppers! Where IS Goniff when I need him??? I could pop a wig and gown on him, send him in my place, I'd have a piece of bread and cheese in my room, and they, he and I would all be quite content!"

Richards was trying desperately to keep an appropriately pleasant look on his face, trying not to snort at that thought. 

"And, Kevin, really, a fox hunt? You want to put me on one of their miserable excuses for a horse, about as much spirit as a trained poodle, sidesaddle at that, in one of those adorable little fuck-me-over-a-hedge outfits, with a whip, with this crowd and a bunch of dogs chasing some poor little fox? You DO know what's going to happen, don't you? I'll suborn the dogs and horses, we'll join forces with the fox, debag the hunters and use that whip in ways it probably wasn't intended!"

He choked, though thankfully refrained from spitting his drink all over her dress, in which she looked remarkably attractive, he thought. The picture in his mind, pudgy mutton-chopped Lord Fairfax, the slightly dense Leader of the local Hunt Club, bent over, jodhpurs around his ankle, that whip . . . He shook his head resolutely, "{no, best not, no matter how delightful that image is,"} he thought to himself.

"You needn't participate in the fox hunt; there are other activities on the agenda, I'm sure," unable to help himself. He just had to hear her opinion of those 'other activities'; this conversation was the only bright spot to the whole boring affair! He knew he was going to regale Garrison with this; it was just too good not to! 

"A card party. Now, that could be profitable; The Professor taught me how to diddle the deck quite nicely, and Goniff, Casino and Actor have added a few little tricks to my repertoire. Could end up with quite a haul," she said, with a little more interest, while he groaned. He'd heard more than he wanted about The Professor, one Peter Newkirk, Mentor, beloved, to Meghada's older sister, teacher to several of the others. Yes, he could just see her wiping the tables with this lot, maybe coming away the owner of some choice real estate and family heirlooms, maybe even the manor house they were standing in. He could see him trying to explain that to Whitehall, possibly even the Palace. 

"An archery contest, following a 'mid-morning champagne breakfast on the lawn'," she said in a simpering voice, accompanied by fluttering eyelashes. "Seriously, Kevin. You are going to put a bow and arrows in my hand after making me wait for my breakfast til I've been awake for who knows HOW many hours, then feeding me some lukewarm crap you British consider food, on wet grass and with even more of this glorified cat piss?? Really??!" Again, his mind fed him the image, and he was lucky he hadn't just taken a drink, or her dress WOULD have gotten a dousing. 

"Oh, and a picnic. Me sitting making polite conversation with this group over a long afternoon, sipping tea, probably sipping more of those . . . Yes, I can see that; after all, that IS my specialty, isn't it, polite conversation? Wonder how many strokes I'll induce! Games, too, oh how lucky can I possibly get? Charades, now that should be quite amusing," and his heart qualled at the thought of her playing Charades with this lot; her sense of humor was really quite wicked!

"And the topper, Kevin? The piece de resistance? A fashion show. We are to select from outfits designed by the House of Worth, Balmain, and Dior, based on our 'own individual lifestyles and interests', and priss down a bleedin runway, pointing out the features and attributes of what we're wearing. Now, what shall I select? How will I describe each stunning ensemble? I can see it now - "

"There would be 'Dangereaux, by Dior- in Midnight blue silk with moonglow trimmings - The perfect attire for assassinating a German General under a full moon from a concealed position.' Sweet, yes?"

"Oh, how about, 'Intrigue, exclusively from the House of Worth - in wine red with white frothy accents - what the sophisticated Contract Agent wears when infiltrating an Italian bordello frequented by high-ranking Nazi officers'. Saucy, to be sure!"

"Ah, yes, I have it, 'Urgency, only from the collection of the legendary Balmain - in the always-fashionable khaki, with a light sprinkling of golden accents - just the thing to wear when digging a slit trench'. Or maybe . . ." and halted only because his face had gone deep red with trying to hold in his laughter. Now her face was HER again, and he was actually relieved to see it. Her unrelievedly blunt words combined with that 'social ditz' demeanor, that's what did him in. HER saying those things, well that was just HER, it didn't seem to hit him in the same way. 

"Actually, I just remembered I need to leave for a meeting; perhaps I could remember you were supposed to be at that meeting as well, as an advisor? My fault, obviously, that I neglected to tell you, and to have you miss all these delightful events that have been planned for you, but the war and all, you know, dreadfully inconvenient for us all sometimes."

She looked at him, her brows raised, "and this will cost me exactly what?"

"A drink, at the first place that might possible serve a somewhat decent glass of bourbon, or failing that, perhaps whisky less offensive that what they are serving here."

She heaved a deep sigh, "deal. I certainly hope Craig is doing better with his socializing than I am." At the raised brows, she explained, "he was summoned to a house party, Lord and Lady Evering I believe, to hobnob . . " and the expression of pure horror on Richard's face told the story.

"I gather Craig is NOT going to be any happier than I was?"

Kevin Richards shuddered, remembering his OWN experiences with the Everings, "oh my dear God! I wouldn't think so! Lord and Lady Evering and their bunch have more arms than an octopus, and the inclinations of alley cats in heat, dosed with Spanish fly!"

Now, it was Meghada who choked, "Oh bloody hell!" {"Maybe I WAS lucky to just be dealing with grasshoppers!"}

And then she thought of what Goniff would have to say about that group and their 'inclinations', especially where Craig was concerned, and she winced in anticipation. {"Protective, he is, and bloody minded as can be, bless his heart, when he thinks it's needful. Oh bloody hell!"}.

She hoped the Everings weren't among The Five Hundred, that current foolish affected description of the 'top of the toffs'; once the dust settled, they might have to rename that The Four Hundred Ninety Nine! Now she KNEW it was a good thing she'd be getting home earlier than planned. She turned and dashed to repack her traveling case, leaving it to Kevin to make their apologies. 

Though, when he recounted the story of Meghada and The Socialities to Garrison and his team, over a round of decent whisky, the looks on their faces, their reaction, that was worth the discomfort he'd experienced in trying to explain to Julie why he'd had to drag the redhead away. Just why his sister was so fascinated with the young woman, so determined to be in her company, he didn't know. He just knew it wasn't a good thing. At least for him and his nervous system! Though, he now knew what to get Meghada for her birthday, if he could pry the name of that milliner out of his sister's friend. {"I wonder if she does anything other than grasshoppers and birds nests, though that would certainly suffice if not! But maybe with netting that would go better with that bronze dress. Maybe purple??"}. Of course, he'd have to have her open her present when the guys were present; yes, that was most essential! And the others in the room had to wonder at the delighted snort and laugh and wicked look on the face of the usually somber Major Richards. 

And it didn't get much better than when Garrison was prodded and eventually gave in, relating his adventures at the Evering's house party, and Richards, now under the influence of at least one drink more than he usually indulged in, gave them his rendition of HIS experiences at Evering Manor.

The mental pictures they were getting of the prim and proper British Major, being backed into a corner and urged to join the six-some (or were there seven in that highly disturbing seething mound of flesh??) enjoying themselves on that tall padded round cushion they called an 'entertainment pouff' while the orchestra just continued playing and the other guests just continued dancing, well, that was even better than the one Garrison had presented.

"And just how did you get out of that, Major? I AM correct in assuming you DID, am I not?" Actor asked with some amusement.

"Ran like a rabbit, Actor, ran like a bloody rabbit!" was the rueful answer, and the resulting laugh bound them all together, if just for awhile.


	2. Who's That Sleeping In My Bed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had he been intent on self-destruction? He knew now, perhaps when it was too late, that his impetuous, ill-planned attack had been an impulse born of disillusionment and exhaustion. How he could have been so stupid, he'd never know. Now he could only hope he hadn't destroyed all he had gained!

Craig Garrison stood in the bedroom, looking at the big wide bed, at the two figures asleep under the covers. It was a strange feeling, seeing those two heads together in that bed, one flaxen, the other dark. It didn't look right; the second one should have been dark red, if not his own gold blond. He'd thought he might find something like this, from what he'd heard down at the pub. Somehow, though, that hadn't prepared him for this feeling of . . . What? Wrongness, certainly. Uneasiness, discomfort, yes. Anger, a sense of loss? No, not quite that, but something tending in that direction. He wondered just how best to handle this, the best way to react, how much to let them, {"No, let HIM"} see of the feelings now drifting through him, first one, then another, then another. He was cold, he was tired, he was . . .

**

He gradually became aware of someone else in the room. He wasn't alarmed, he knew who it was, he could tell, he could always tell. He felt a smile coming across his face at the thought, starting to turn in welcome. Then, as he opened his eyes and remembered, he saw the other figure in the bed in front of him, realized who it was, and he froze.

{"Ruddy 'ell! 'Ow am I gonna explain this? Surely 'e'll understand; I know 'ow it looks, but . . ."} and slowly turned and looked into those green eyes, remote and cool, detached. His own pale blue eyes were wide, and were slowly becoming more fearful; not afraid, but fearful, apprehensive. That look, that was all Lieutenant Garrison, Garrison in his most professional stance, like he'd been when they first met, not who should be standing there, not Craig.

He slid up and around, pushed the covers away to sit on the side of the bed, deeply relieved to realize he was fully dressed except for his boots; he actually hadn't remembered if he would be or not.

"Craig, I can explain," only to get a very cool, almost uninterested look in return.

"Really? It's not necessary; I suppose you don't owe me any explanations. I heard talk, so I guess I'm not surprised. Still, I would have thought you'd have brought him somewhere other than Meghada's bed. Or is she as okay with that as she was with your bringing me here?"

That voice was getting to him; he wasn't sure what he had expected, but not this, not this icy offhand indifference. He shivered, and the expression in those hazy blue eyes was shifting, away from that first fearfulness, away from apprehension, now slowly melting into pain, and overwhelming loss, and the return of that aloneness he had almost let himself believe was a thing of the past, along with the cold knowledge that he'd managed to muck it all up, just as he'd always feared he would do. 

Craig felt his insides jerk in response to that look, in annoyance, more, in bitter anger at himself for playing this childish game, causing that look, with this man of all people. Perhaps that experience with the Evering group had affected him, chilled him more than he thought.

He blinked, let the warmth return to his eyes, a small 'come, share the joke' smile coming to his face, and watched the bewilderment fill the pale, now more so than usual, face of the smaller man in front of him. He shook his head, moved forward reached out one hand to touch that strong but wiry shoulder, leaned over and bumped his forehead against the other's, gently, and gave a quiet laugh at the wide, wondering, hopeful eyes.

"Never thought I'd be able to con you, Goniff, of all people," and felt more than a little guilty at the huge sigh that followed, the look of intense relief in those blue eyes he loved so much.

He'd not do this again, he knew that for certain. It was like a child playing with matches, curious to see that tiny spark, only to see his home go up in flames, destroying everything he cared for. {"Far too much like that,"} he thought, and shivered at the vision, wondering again just what on earth had possessed him to do something this foolish, this reckless.

Over coffee, by mutual decision heavily altered with a jolt of the quite good bourbon from the cabinet, (as opposed to the 'whatever the holy hell they are pouring out of that old bourbon bottle tonight', that they served down at the pub) in the next room, "you said you'd heard talk?. . ." Goniff stopped without finishing. Maybe better to let it rest, not to tell this man that he'd been close to panic, had thought, just for a brief few moments, that he'd lost someone so important to him, had mucked it up. Just as he was always afraid in the back of his mind that he was going to, probably with both of them, both of the ones he loved and needed so much, ones he'd never dreamed he'd be lucky enough to find. 

"I stopped by the pub. Jake told me you two were in, had closed the place down - that Casino was hardly able to stand and you not a lot better. He gave me the keys he took off you, told me the jeep was in the back lot. Figured since he had them, you hadn't snitched them back and the jeep was still there, that you'd started out walking; figured you'd not be able to make it back to the Mansion, that you'd stop here. Just thought you'd bed down in there, put him down in the library, not in there too." 

Sheepishly, Goniff told Craig, "well, and I intended to do just that, but once we got through the kitchen door, 'e lurched in this direction, and I couldn't keep 'im upright for much longer. Barely got 'im where 'e is now, and by then, I was done for. Should 'ave thought, but," and he gave a rueful grin, "I wasn't doing much thinking by then."

Garrison snorted, "obviously!" That got the taller blond an archly reproving look for interrupting, which brought a smile to Craig's face.

"Just pulled my boots off, crawled in next to 'im and pulled the covers over; that's the last I remember til I felt you come in. Didn't expect you, didn't think about what you'd be seeing if you did show up." And his face became more drawn, a bit lost, "didn't think about what you'd maybe be thinking," looking again at the face of his lover, wanting to see some sign that things were alright again. The warm, amused relaxed smile told him that all was well, and his own face relaxed again. 

"Why just the two of you last night?"

Goniff shrugged, "Chief is still sniffling and coughing; Actor is buried in a book, Seneca, I think, and didn't want to be bothered."

Garrison grinned at that ever so casual reference, wishing Actor could have heard it.

Then a puzzled frown crossed that mobile face, "and what ARE you doing 'ere anyway? Thought you were supposed to be at ole muckety-muck 'is Lordship Evering's 'ouse, meeting all those bigwigs, bending the elbow, winning friends, influencing people, all that sort of thing."

Garrison snorted at him, "you've been reading again!" Craig knew the small library had increased by a good third, now that Goniff had got the bug, or maybe just since he gave in and allowed Meghada to see how much he really enjoyed it. "You keep that up, Actor's going to catch you one of these days," laughing at the sly look on the slight Englishman's face.

"No worries, 'e'd never believe it if 'e saw it, Craig; not many do." 

Craig Garrison had long ago figured out there was far more to his pickpocket than the man let most people see; he wasn't sure how much of that was still defense mechanism, habitual camouflage, or a game. Craig found it a source of continual interest, and frequent amusement, though he knew that even he didn't fully grasp what, who this man really was, though he thought Meghada might.

Well, he didn't worry about that, not as long as Goniff wanted Craig for his own, and he DID, and Craig had the promise that things would remain that way as long as Craig wanted it to, and he couldn't imagine ever wanting it to change. He thought again about that little game earlier, and wondered at how he could had been so stupid, risking so much just because he was in some sort of a blue funk.

"Well, did you get bored?"

Garrison blushed, and admitted, "seems it was more like one of those house parties you read about in some period novel. Everybody pairing off, then swapping partners, then switching again. I kept walking into scenes I really didn't want to be seeing, kept finding myself being propositioned, backed into a corner. Even had my backside pinched a few times!"

Goniff frowned at that, "some bloke pinched your backside?" and Garrison blushed even deeper, "no, Lady Evering! She just wouldn't take a hint, and I was starting to feel like a mouse surrounded by a bunch of cats, with one big hungry cat in a blond wig leading them all. So I 'remembered an important meeting' and took off as fast as I could." He laughed, remembering, "I think I left skid marks on that drive of theirs,". 

Goniff was still frowning, "don't like that, I don't. Never understood what they're thinking, them what can't keep their 'ands off what don't belong to them."

Garrison let a corner of his mind find a bit of amusement at that firm statement, considering just how challenged Goniff was in the 'keeping his hands off things that didn't belong to him' category. Of course, Goniff drew a firm distinction between people and things, so he guessed that accounted for the difference. There was a bit of a pause, while Garrison smiled to himself, feeling quite warmed by the protectiveness, the possessiveness being shown.

"Just where do these Everings live, ei? Don't rightly recall w'at you said earlier," came as a ever so casual question, and Garrison snapped to attention, knowing that voice oh so well.

"No! You will not extract revenge!" shuddering at what the man just might come up with; Goniff could get quite inventive when he thought the situation called for it, would be quite willing to get the other guys involved, and God help them all if he brought the redhead in on the plan! "It's not necessary, I got myself out unscathed except for a couple of bruises in uncomfortable places. I'll let you soothe them later, that's all that's needed," and was relieved to see Goniff relax a bit and now his smile was more sincere.

"And I'll be glad to do just that," with a soft laugh. "But where did you spend the night? You look right done in, you do."

"Didn't," he replied in heartfelt disgust. "Left there around ten last night, intended to drive straight in; got delayed in London for a few hours due to that air raid around midnight; spent that time in a shelter with about fifty other people all crowded in on top of one another, then when the all clear was sounded, got back in the jeep and came on in. Stopped at the pub for coffee, Jake wasn't open of course, but was there doing inventory and let me in and shared the pot with me; I heard the story and came here."

"You really are done in! Come on, Casino's still out, might as well take a bit of a nap til 'e's up and ready to 'ead back to the Mansion." 

"Meghada?" Garrison inquired as he slipped out of his shoes, leaving them beside the chair.

"She's in London, Major Richards co-opting 'er for one of 'is sister's doings, two days of doing the pretty with the toffs; she 'eaded up early evening. You can imagine 'ow she much she was looking forward to that! Don't know why 'e keeps letting Julie talk 'im into such; nothing good comes from mixing those together. Thought they'd 'ave BOTH learned their lesson by now," with a laugh, remembering some of the scenes that had occured at prior such gatherings. "Wore that new bronzie thing 'er sister made for 'er; looked smashing, she did! Will outshine everyone else there, she will!"

They shared another shot of bourbon, this time without the coffee, and Garrison let himself be persuaded. It was still a long way til daylight. He'd been thinking about luring Goniff into the library for a bit more privacy and perhaps some soothing of those bruises; however, those walls were thin enough he figured that wouldn't be a good idea when Casino finally came around. Casino found the whole Meghada-Goniff-Garrison thing disconcerting, to say the least. Besides, he could tell Goniff was still a little hungover, and he himself was exhausted. Dodging stray hands was a tiring business! So, they went back into the bedroom, snickering to themselves at the buried figure snoring away at the far side of the bed, and they tucked themselves under the covers as well. 

Later, they could only put that very bad decision down to the hangover and exhaustion, aided perhaps by those heavy shots of bourbon and no food in their stomachs; surely even a modicum of common sense would have told them just how bad an idea it was! They both knew just how short-lived Meghada's patience was when presented with the pure foolishness of Julie Richards and her society friends. They both had more than enough experience than to believe the old maxim about lightning not striking in the same place twice. Yes, it had to have been the hangover and the exhaustion and the bourbon and lack of food; there was just no other explanation for it. They didn't think of any of that, though, as they moved closer to each other and drifted off into a sound sleep.

**  
Meghada came in through the kitchen door, feeling the cottage being unexpectedly warm for as long as she'd been gone, then smiling as she felt their presence, felt perhaps as much as heard that soft muttering, the only slightly louder murmuring that let her know both of her lads were in residence. {"Now that's company I'm much more inclined to spend my time on! How Kevin could even imagine I'd fit in with those sillies without losing my patience is totally beyond me, and I think he and I are going to have to have a bit of a . . ."} She stopped her reverie at the third set of noises coming from her bedroom, snoring. Rather melodic snoring, nothing unpleasant, but . . . why was it coming from her bedroom?

She moved to the open door, stepped in, and was greeted with the most unexpected sight of three bodies, nestled close together under the covers, only their heads showing; black hair, flaxen hair, gold blond hair. She stood, blinking, with a bit of a frown. She softly moved back to the kitchen, then to the library, to be sure the day bed was still up and functional. She eased out the kitchen door to the second, even the third cottage.

{"Yes, all the other beds and cots are made up, ready for use. Then why . . ."} and of the answers that come to her mind, none of them were particularly welcome. It wasn't that she wasn't fond of Casino, she was, it was just . . .

She battled the sense of desolation that tried to set itself up inside her. {"I don't know all that much about Dragons and their matings, even though I AM a Dragon. There have never been many of us, very few mate at all, and with three involved? I don't know if I've heard of that more than three or four times with a Dragon, and with one being MacTire and the other pure Outlander, well, maybe there are things I'm just not aware of. So I can't be so quick to get upset. Maybe this is something I should have, should be expecting? Perhaps it's all part of what is supposed to be. Maybe their need for a third, well, once they realized that, they figured it didn't have to be me,"}.

Still, it didn't seem quite right, however she considered it, but still that sense of emptiness, loneliness that she thought she'd left far behind her, well, it was seeping in like a chill London fog, along with an ache that seemed to penetrate ever inch of her body. She'd settled onto a bench in the garden to do her thinking, though the pre-dawning looked as if it would be a cold, damp day, and soon her clothing was wet through and through, and her hair covered in a sheen of moisture. Perhaps that was the same moisture that eased down her face, perhaps not. Thinking of what she should do, what she should say, so many things passing through her mind, getting nowhere.

Finally, she bethought herself of something her older sister had told her, many years ago. "It's sometimes not so hard coming up with solutions to a problem. The danger is in not making sure what the real problem is in the first place. See, a solution might be totally valid, indeed, excellent, might suite that problem to a tee. But if it's the solution to the wrong problem, one that might not even exist, well, that does you little good, and can even do a great deal of harm. So, figure out what the problem really IS, THEN search out the best solution to THAT problem, and that problem only."

So she took a deep breath, wiped that moisture from her face, shook her head firmly, and went back into the kitchen. She couldn't change out of her wet clothes, not without waking the men, but she did blot the moisture from her face and hair with the handtowel at the sink. Shivering now, she busied herself, making every effort to be as quiet as possible.

**  
The smell of coffee filled the air, and the sweet scent of something from the oven. Goniff smiled, easing out of his sleep, inhaling with pleasure, stretching, feeling much better than the last time he'd awakened. Well, why not? The morning held the promise of everything he wanted: Meghada, Craig, their own private bit of space, hot food. His eyes snapped open, wide.

"Oh ruddy 'ell! Craig, it's Meghada, she's 'ome!" and the green eyes that had opened with a smile in them that matched the one on his lips, changed as he felt that lightning bolt, the one that 'couldn't strike twice'. They both turned over, just as Meghada entered the bedroom, the look in her eyes one of purposeful neutrality, the look trying to cover the hurt hovering just below telling them this was not the first time she'd been in here since she came home.

A smile, somewhat forced, but still showing an earnest effort, accompanied her greeting, "hello, lads. There's coffee on, and I've just taken a loaf of sweet bread out of the oven. Ready for something to eat while I start getting something more substantial together?" and Goniff wondered at her composure, seeing as well the struggle it was for her to keep that well in hand.

The moment might have drawn out, the pain continuing for awhile longer, except for the savior of the hour. Well, it was only fitting, since he was pretty much the instigator of the whole situation in the first place.

**  
He smelled the coffee, the sweet lushness in the air, and smiled as he started to rouse from his long pub-induced sleep. {"Yeah, now that's the way to wake up; coffee and something sweet and . . ."} and like so many others that morning, stiffened with the realization that this was NOT NORMAL. There was no way he could smell the coffee all the way from the kitchen up here to the dorm, not to mention the very slim chances of anything warm and sweet coming from the Sergeant Major's hand! Taking account, he realized the soft mattress, warm covers, those didn't bear any resemblance to his cot at the Mansion either.

As he heard voices, shifted in the bed, turned over, to realize he had two bedmates, both of whom he recognized quite well, neither of whom he was accustomed to sharing a soft bed with, well outside of what was necessary due to space or warmth on a mission, especially with the young woman standing there looking at them like that, it burst out of him.

"Sheesh! What IS it with you people??! Guy can't even get a decent night's sleep without getting mixed up in some of yer shenanigans!" and the looks on their faces, most importantly the dawning look of understanding on Meghada's, well that told its own story. No, she didn't understand what had led up to this, not yet, but his reaction was more than enough to tell her that it would be something much in line with their usual escapades, and nothing she needed to worry about.

Later, in the kitchen, drinking coffee and finishing off the last of that loaf of sweet bread, hearing the whole story, he shook his head, refusing to accept any blame for the whole affair. "You people need to get a hobby!" His head shot up and he glared at them, "NOT ME!" and the laughs that went around the table were warm and real, and the looks exchanged were the same.

When she fixed them a real breakfast, omelettes stuffed with whatever she could find that looked good, fried potatoes with peppers and onions, hot biscuits, Craig and Goniff dug in, with relish. Casino, though, he sat back, studied that omelette, then looked up at her.

"So, you're really not mad at me, right?" and she frowned in puzzlement, "no, I'm not mad at you. Why?"

And he had them all laughing, Craig almost choking, when he told her, "just wanted to know if I needed to check for mushrooms or maybe something worse!" Yeah, he'd heard that story too!

Later, after Casino and Garrison made their way back to the Mansion, with the promise of picking up Goniff on their way to the Pub later that evening with the other guys, the quiet was perhaps a bit heavier than it normally would have been. He watched her, her face, and saw a bit of the lingering emotion she'd gone through, remembering what he'd gone through himself.

"What're you thinking, luv, besides thinking Craig and me are right idiots, I mean?"

She gave him a bit of a smile, but there was a tiny frown on her brow at the same time. "I was thinking I owe my sister Caeide a debt of gratitude," and she explained the advice she'd been given so many years ago. "There were so many ways I could have reacted, ways that would have made things worse, all because I didn't know what had really happened." Now the frown was stronger, but somehow teasing as well.

"And it's not as if I'd have easily GUESSED at what really happened, either; even now, it rather boggles my mind, that after CRAIG walking in and that difficult scene, that you both just crawled right back . . ."

And then, the smile became more pronounced, now turning into an actual grin, and with a shake of her head, "Laddie, remind me never to set you to a task when you have a hangover; it's obviously not a good notion," and she snorted a bit in remembering their very earnest, very embarrassed account of the happenings that led to her walking in on the three of them snug under the covers in that big bed of hers.

She started giggling now, "oh, the look on Casino's face! I'll not forget that soon!" and she let him draw her into her arms. And the warmth she felt there, the look in those pale blue eyes, they reassured her as nothing else could have.

{"No, I still don't know nearly what I imagine I need to, about Dragons and matings and all that will affect us. But I'll learn; with their help, we'll all learn. And it will be good, that I am sure of, it will be good!"}. And she turned her attention back to the man holding her, the man she now had enfolded in her arms, and together they proceeded with the learning, and the teaching, and the sharing, and she was right. It was good.

**  
Still, in that big oversized bed, after the loving, she felt something, that little ripple she got when he was thinking just a bit too hard about something a bit too worrisome.

"What, love?"

He tipped his head to where she could see those hazy blue eyes. "Just, I wonder . . . why. I mean, 'e'd been by the pub; said he'd expected we'd come 'ere; knew, really, what likely 'ad 'appened. Why the games?" And his face was a little puzzled, a little hurt, maybe.

She kissed him, gently. "I think that's something you need to ask him, laddie."

He flushed, "'e felt bad enough about it; don't want to stir it up for 'im again."

She tilted her head, "love, that you are still thinking about it, worrying about it, that's enough to say you need to ask him. Get it all out, both of you, and learn whatever there is to learn from it, and then put it behind you; don't let it fester."

He squinted at her, first in earnest, then in gentle mockery, "just 'ow did you get so bossy at your age?" And then that smile, "just 'ow did you get so smart, eh?"

And he hugged her tightly to him, and then bounced out of the bed reaching for his clothes, "any more of that plum cake left, luv?, and maybe a nice cuppa to go with?" he asked hopefully, and she laughed at him.

"Sometimes I think you only want me because I can cook," but the look in his eyes, the look in hers, well, neither of them really believed that. Though, it certainly didn't hurt matters any.

And, because she was bossy, and because she was smart, and because, yes, he was still a little puzzled, a little worried, perhaps a little hurt, he DID ask WHY. They'd all come back to head to the pub, Meghada intending to go with them. She'd taken the others into the kitchen to pour some hot coffee down them, adding generous slices of that plum cake, and kept them occupied, though they did cast occasional glances out to the garden where Goniff and Craig had been standing, smoking.

Now sinking to sit on one of the garden benches, trying to answer that very question, "why? I've been wondering that ever since I pulled that stupid boneheaded stunt! For which, by the way, I can't tell you enough how sorry I am! I think maybe it was the Everings house party. It was a BIG house party, Goniff; lots of people, maybe thirty, thirty-five people, not counting the Everings and their grown children and their spouses, maybe forty-five, fifty people or more, all told. Some of those people were married; I mean, to each other. Some were married, but had come alone. A lot of the others were in supposedly committed relationships; their other half, part of them were there, though not all. I watched, and it was like they were so bored with each other, just indifferent to what the other was doing, was doing and with whom, even bored with what THEY were doing. I don't know, it made me tired, and cold, and maybe, a little bit scared. What if, someday, . . ." and he sat with his head bent, drawing on the cigarette in his hand, forearms resting on his knees.

Goniff looked down at him, understanding so much more, and remembered. 

He sighed and sat on the bench opposite. "Did I ever tell you about the time Meghada and me got crosswise over one of 'er songs?"

Garrison lifted his head, puzzled, wondering at the change of subject, wondering if he'd said too much, or just the wrong thing, and Goniff just didn't want to discuss it anymore. There was enough moonlight he could see the wry smile on the face of the Englishman that told him that wasn't the case.

"You know, early on, she'd said she wrote all 'er songs for me, and even later, she mostly did, though not always. We'd come back from a job, I 'urried down 'ere as soon as I was free. ''eard 'er in the shower, wandered in and picked up the newest pieces of music she was working on. (From story, 'He Brings Out The Music In Me' - songs: 'You Don't Bring Me Flowers' and 'Where Will The Words Come From'). Thought I was going to be sick, I did. All about a woman realizing her love just DIDN'T, WASN'T, not anymore; that they'd talked about forever, but now, there was nothing left, not for either of them, and 'er just trying to figure out 'ow to get out of something she didn't want to be a part of anymore. Craig, felt like I'd taken a bullet, I swear. She came out while I was sitting there 'olding that music, wondering 'ow it 'ad gotten so wrong without me knowing it, what I'd done to muck it up, if there was anything I could do to fix things. Turns out, she wrote it for one a 'er sisters, for a job; pointed out the note at the top, that tells who she's writing it for, if it's one a those. C-Ciena, it was, for Commissioned by Ciena; was even a file in the office, with notes as to the songs Ciena 'ad asked for, what they should kinda say, same as she 'ad for Coura, a couple of others. Felt ruddy stupid,I did, but it scared me, Craig, can't even begin . . . ".

He took a strong drag on his own cigarette. "Ended up just 'olding each other for ever so long, tight as we could manage. Know what she told me?" and he gave a low painful chuckle, "told me, "that'll never be us, I swear it." Told me I needed to believe that, just like she believed it. And that's just what I did. That's what I DO believe, in spite of my worrying sometimes that I'll muck it all up. But if I do, it won't be on purpose, not by setting out to do something stupid like that, like crawling into bed with someone - for real, you know. Yes, I doubt ME, sometimes, that I won't muck things up, but I'm fighting that. I don't doubt US; I think we are stronger than that, stronger even than my knack for getting things all turned around, and I 'ope if I ever get so far off track, you'll both kick me square on and get me back right. So, I'm saying, Craig, you and me, that'll never be us, either. I believe that, I swear it. And you need to believe that too," and blue eyes met green eyes, and gradually the smile appeared, in the eyes, on the lips.

And a voice almost as husky as Goniff's whispered, "Yes, I believe that, I swear. And, I'm sorry." And they leaned in to each other for one long minute, then "we'd better get them and get going," even though both of them would have preferred to spend the next hour or so alone, cementing that promise, setting it in stone, never to be swayed. But that would come later; for now, the promise, well, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dale Carneghie's popular book, "How To Win Friends And Influence People" was published in 1936. I figured Goniff would get a chuckle out of it.


End file.
